Saint George and the Dragon
by Twelfth Knight
Summary: Is your fantasy what you really want to live?
1. Saint George and the Dragon

**Saint George and the Dragon**

I suppose that my tenure at Mr. Irons' residence may have gone without incident if I hadn't have taken a shortcut across the gallery to deliver the cleaning supplies that I had been sent for. Regardless, as I rounded a corner I was witness to something that I had in no way expected.

As I watched from behind a sculpture, my employer walked quietly up behind the collection's curator and put his arm around the latter's waist, whispering something into his ear. Whatever the response, it made him smile and run his hand down the back of the man's leg before kissing him on the neck patting softly away.

Suddenly I found myself wanting him to be like that toward me, touching me instead of this other. In a moment's time he had transformed from simply the master of the household in which I worked into something else altogether.

I was instantly degusted with myself and continued with my task.

Lust, unfortunately, is one of the creeping thinks that somehow overtake the afflicted no matter how fast or hard they run.

For one ungodly reason or another I found myself pondering the whole event, all about two minutes of it, while taking a bucket down a hall the next day and only came out of the mists of daydream as I almost slammed into the tall gentleman. I franticly apologized and thought that I had swept my chances of suspicion under the rug when he smiled and told me to be more careful—I blushed horribly.

A few hours later I was summoned to one of the sitting rooms where I found him sitting on a couch, waiting.

"George…Please," he smiled charmingly, patting the seat beside him.

I closed the door behind me and defied the voices in my head, sitting as bade.

He regarded me and leaned back, left arm on the back of the couch, right on its arm, fingers on his jaw.

"How is it that I've never really seen you about in the two years that you've been in my service?" he mused raising his eyebrows slightly.

"You're nearly always occupied with other things,…sir."

I knew what he was doing, but some part of me wanted it to happen. Despite it, the voices got loader as he moved closer and kissed me.

Such a passionate kiss.

He moved his head back just enough to look into my eyes and gently brushed my hair back. Somehow his left hand found my back and the right my lap. He was so close that I could feel his breath on my face. When he went to kiss me again something snapped and I tightened my lips, pulling my head away just far enough to avoid his lips.

"I'm sorry…" the words caught in my throat, "…I can't."

He moved his hands and allowed me to get up. His eyes looked slightly confused though he smiled coolly and leaned back into the sofa.

He looked away a little and told me to feel free to change my mind, eventually dismissing me with a motion of his hand.

As I lay in bed that night I realized that I couldn't bare those eyes again, something about them threatened to consume my soul.


	2. Saint George and the Dragon's Breath Sai...

Saint George and the Dragon's Breath

When I woke up the next morning I realized a fact that escaped me the day before in all of it's confusion, I was still in his house. That is, if I intended to end my employment and temptation I would have to make my way through a good portion of the building and out.

What if he was keeping an eye out for me?

I just sighed and got up and ready, at least externally, for the day ahead.

Packing my things didn't take very long since all of the actual live-in staff had really small quarters; my room was about big enough to hang clothes and sleep in, my possessions few.

I couldn't stop the thoughts of the previous day's events from flooding my mind despite the little barriers that I tried to put up. He had kissed me and I had pulled away. Wasn't his affection what I had wanted? And how on earth did he know? Was it that evident when I ran into him in the hall? And what was going on between him and his collection's care taker? More importantly, why would he bother with either of us? Not cutting myself down, but we were just staff. Was he afraid that someone would find out where his interests lay? Shaking my head in a vain attempt to clear it I wandered off into the hall, taking one last look at what I had called home.

Somewhere between the corridor outside of my room and the midsection of the house I became aware of someone watching me. It was one of those cold feelings and I turned around to see who it was. The boy in black who managed security around the mansion was looking at me as if I were a piece of furniture. It was that empty look of my own unimportance that really bothered me. I mean, I was used to knowing my place but that was a bit much.

I decided that turning back to my previously chosen path and continuing was the best move.

"Mr. Irons wants to speak with you," he called after me in a smooth, dark yet chilly voice. I had never heard him speak before and now I knew that I should have prayed for that silence to continue. A shiver ran through me and I involuntarily stopped walking.

"Where?" I heard myself ask.

"He will be right down."

I turned, despising myself for obeying, and sat in a chair in the corner of the room. Somehow I had overlooked the fact that he was usually home on the weekends, and this was Saturday and God he looked good. He entered the room in his casual clothes and I could have sworn that it was like a light had been turned on it there. After a few words with the security guy he turned and walked toward me. I thought about the possibility that I might be bright red and also bout getting up and running from him but I found that I was not only stuck to the chair but my heart couldn't have managed the run if I could have made myself get up.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked obviously noticing my suitcase.

I gulped and tried to say 'yes' though it came out as 'ess'.

Sitting down in a chair near mine he propped him head on a hand and stared at me. Well maybe it was just a few seconds, but it felt like he was staring.

"I must confess that I don't completely understand you, George. One minute you open and wanting while the next you close up and are terrified," he mused in what I assume was his usual looking-down-his-nose-at-you manner.

Still, he was right.

"I just…" I stammered, "You are…"

"Your employer?" he suggested.

"And…"

"A man?" he half-smiled sarcastically at me, getting up to come over to me, or so I expected.

Instead he went over to the locked liquor cabinet on the other side of the room, offering me a drink. I'm sure that he knew from my working papers that I wasn't yet twenty much less older. I said yes, regardless of law and my semi-lucid sense.

When he returned he handed me a glass with something very potent in it. The stuff burned on the way down as he watched me.

"You aren't quite used to that sort of thing, are you?" he asked, sipping whatever it was, the same thing, from his glass nonchalantly.

I tried not to look too awkward but didn't expect that I was having much success. After a little while I felt a lot less nervous and a lot less in control. Somehow I didn't mind when he led me over to the couch and closed the doors. We talked for a few minutes, though I can't remember about what and then he relieved me of my glass and kissed me. I was too woozy to resist and didn't really feel like doing that anyway.

All I know is that the next morning I woke up alone in a large bedroom, alone and not wearing what I was sure I had entered there in, my head killing me and memories of a very odd but interesting night floating back.

The bed was turned down next to me but apparently unused and a note was on the pillow beside mine. All it said was 'thank you. Dinner? K'.

Why me?


End file.
